


Genji Oneshots

by FearOrRegret



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearOrRegret/pseuds/FearOrRegret
Summary: A collection of the Genji x reader pieces from my tumblr.





	Genji Oneshots

**kissing in the snow**

Genji never seemed to get cold. There you were bundled up and still shivering in the snow, and all he had to wear was a thin hoodie. Sure there was a rosey tint in his face from the chilling air, but other than that you would have guessed it was springtime by the way he acted. He’d only worn gloves because you’d insisted.

“Let’s get inside. It’s too cold,” you said as the sun began to set. You dreaded the thought of how much colder it would be after nightfall.

“I’ll keep you warm,” he told you and pulled you into a hug.

You laughed and embraced him. Truth be told, he did very little to warm you up; his body was only slightly warmer than yours although he apparently didn’t feel it. You leaned into him and pecked a quick kiss on his nose. His skin was like ice against your lips.

“Your face is freezing!” you exclaimed with a giggle.

“Is it?”

He pressed his cold nose against your cheek, holding you tightly so you couldn’t wiggle away. You laughed and struggled until his affectionate nuzzling turned into soft kisses.

* * *

 

**"Cuddling by the Fireplace"**

While on a mission you find yourself in an old safe house. There’s no heating, but the house is so old that it’s got a fireplace. It’s cold and you’re both so surprised to see it that you agree to light a fire for the night.

He’s never seen a fireplace that wasn’t just for show. He sits kind of close so he can watch the fire. At first you sit a little further away, not quite sure how close is too close. Your blanket’s not very thick, and you shiver even though you’re wrapped up like a burrito. He notices you shaking and invites you to sit closer. He puts an arm around you for a moment, but then he has a better idea. He takes your blanket and pulls you into his lap and wraps the blanket over both of you. His body doesn’t give off as much heat as you expected, and his hands are cold as ice. But it’s nice being this close. If you’re not careful you could fall asleep on him.

* * *

 

**Take what you need.**

The best part of Halloween was the candy, and as soon as the jumbo packs of fun sized candy bars hit the shelves you started hoarding. You were the go-to candy supplier. You learned pretty quickly who preferred what and, more importantly, who could be bribed with sweets. McCree liked anything with cinnamon, DVa was partial to sour, Brigitte was a sucker for taffy.

The Shimadas shared a love of hard candies that bordered on addiction, and you were glad to be their dealer. Within the first week of October one or both of the brothers would have either flattery or favors to offer you in exchange for the treats they knew you had. Being the proud one, Hanzo was rarely the first to approach you. So you were hardly surprised–practically expecting it–when Genji took the time to remind you how he considered you a great friend.

“A great friend with something you want?” you answered. You always intended to share, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t tease a little first.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he pressed.

“Anything?,” you repeated with a playfully suggestive look.

“Just say the word and I’m yours, mistress.”

He always found a way to make your knees a little weak, regardless of how platonic your relationship really was. You couldn’t say when flirting became a part of the tradition, but it was hard not to when he laid the charm on so thick. Where was the harm in a little playful banter anyways?

You laughed and offered him your stash of sweets.

“Take what you need,” you told him.

* * *

 

**“I thought you agreed I should wear this costume to the party tonight.” “Oh I agreed to you wearing it tonight, but I had no party in mind.”**

You weren’t unfamiliar, or even uncomfortable, with revealing Halloween costumes. You’d worn your fair share in the past. Your inhibitions stemmed from the fact that the leotard, fishnets, and cat ears that you’d agreed to wear would easily be the skimpiest thing your Blackwatch peers had seen you in.

You had been trying to convince Genji to come to the annual costume party for years, and he’d finally agreed on the condition that you let him choose your outfit. You should have expected he’d pick something as trite as a sexy cat. The more he opened up to you, the more apparent his natural cheeky boyishness became. It was a comforting change from the emotionless stupor his trauma had left him in. You’d feared at first that he’d never recover. So, for him, you’d wear the stupid sexy getup.

Genji cornered you in the hall on the way to the party, sizing you up appreciatively. For once, the dim glow of his eyes seemed gentle rather than menacing.

“You actually wore it?” he said, a chuckle tinting his voice.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” you answered. “Let’s go or we’ll be late for the party.”

“Why don’t we skip the party?” he suggested instead.

“I thought you agreed I should wear this costume to the party tonight,” you reminded him.

“I agreed to you wearing it tonight, but I had no party in mind,” he explained. “I only agreed to spend Halloween with you.”

He was right. You’d have to choose your words more carefully the next time you tried to get him to socialize. Either way, you’d made a deal. Just because you weren’t going to the party didn’t mean you couldn’t still have fun.

“So what are we going to do tonight?” you asked.

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

* * *

 

 **Hiii can i request a college au with young genji, where he has big crush on one of the girls in his clas** s

An 8 a.m. class hadn’t been what he’d signed up for, but a last minute schedule change from the school put Genji in your early morning Cal 1 class. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise. When he dragged himself into the first class the sight of you made him wish that he’d done more to get ready than throw on whatever sweats he’d had laying around. You sat on the front row nearest the door, dressed nice for your first day of classes and miraculously wide awake, and your smile stopped him in his tracks.

For the first time in his life Genji chose to sit on the front row. He dropped his bag and settled into the seat beside you and tried (really tried) not to fall asleep.

It wasn’t long before you were nudging his arm gently, rocking him out of the nap he hadn’t intended to take. You leaned into him and, instead of scolding him for his inattention, whispered, “You’re making me tired, too.” The playful giggle underlying your words was the cutest thing he’d ever heard.

“We should sleep together,” his drowsy brain said before he could stop himself.

The color rising in your cheeks at his bold declaration, although endearing, filled him with instant regret. You hid your face behind your notebook so no one would see the deep redness of your cheeks. He sat back fully awake and unsure if he could convince you that he wasn’t a creep who hits on girls during class.

“I didn’t mean like that,” he explained. “I’m sorry. I’m too tired to think right.”

You turned toward him, still shielding your face from the class, and he saw with relief that you had been laughing silently into your notes. Your amusement only reddened your face more. Once you were able to get your chuckling under control you set down your notebook in front of you.

“I don’t have anything after this,” you told him. “I’ll show you the best study room to nap in.”

* * *

 

Seeing him without his mask is a treat. Only a handful of people have seen his face since he joined Blackwatch, but you’re the only one he’ll take his mask off to talk you.

He does it only when you’re alone, no prying ears to overhear your hushed conversation and no curious eyes to stare at the scars that have redefined his features. You always stare too, eyes fixated on the forever uneven line of his nose and the way his lips can’t quite form a proper smile, but it’s the way you look at him that makes it different. It’s the way you watch your middle school crush. Your eyes seem to shine with unarticulated affection. You love him in ways that you can’t explain.

You’re the only one who looks at him with anything other than pity. He doesn’t want pity. He’s a man who suffered a tragedy, not some abused shelter pup. Sympathy, he thinks, is for children. For the weak and defenseless, and he is neither. Perhaps he had inherited some of his family’s abhorrent pride. It would be the only thing his father ever gave him.

On a whim you interrupt him with a heavy kiss. You’ve been holding back for a while, enjoying the conversation but also desperate to feel his lips against yours. Something changes in him almost immediately as if your intimacy flipped a switch in his mind. This he remembers; love, contact, sex. Two people whose only need is each other. Hearts racing in unison. The anticipation of being connected in a way that almost makes you feel whole. On instinct he forces your back against a wall and pulls your legs up around him. He bites your lips, sucks your tongue, grabs a fistful of your hair so you can’t pull away. Not until he’s done with you.

Your small squeak of pain makes him pause. Your hair has tangled and caught on the artificial joints of his hand. He let’s you down and helps you free yourself. And then, to your dismay, the mask is back on. The face you’re so enamored with is hidden away again. He’s recalled now that he’s not the man he used to be anymore. Not human. Not safe. He’d hurt you without ever meaning to. No, he decides, it’s safer to keep his distance.

* * *

 

**“I need my shirt back. How about you take it off?”**

Considering that you didn’t live together, you had a lot of Genji’s clothes at your place. Some of it he’d left, and some you’d taken. Regardless you found yourself wearing most of it around the house. Your boyfriend’s clothes fit perfectly for those lazy sweatpants days.

On one such day you were laying on the couch in front of the TV when he let himself in. Without a word he laid down with his head on your stomach, and you instinctively toyed with his hair. You had plans later–a birthday barhop for a mutual friend–but for now you were content to doze together in front of your daytime realty TV.

“Is this my shirt?” he asked of the material beneath his face.

“It was. Now it’s mine,” you informed him.

If he’d noticed the previous three times you’d worn it, he hadn’t said anything, and that meant it was yours to keep. That was the rule you had decided to live by since he’d first abandoned clothes at your place.

“I need my shirt back. How about you take it off?“ he said. His tone was neutral, but his cheeky grin gave away his true intentions.

"You’re just trying to get me naked,” you accused playfully.

“I’m just trying to get my shirt back.”

“Well, you can’t have it.”

“Can’t I?”

It took you just a moment too long to realize what was about to happen. Knowing he had you more or less pinned, Genji started tickling you. You let out a short scream of a laugh and tried to push him off. There wasn’t much else you could do, but you refused to give in without a fight.

By the time you needed to catch your breath from both laughing and your half-hearted wrestling, your struggling sent you both toppling off the couch onto the floor. You lay beside him breathing hard and laughing off the raucous fun you’d shared. It had been a hard fought battle, but you had to admit defeat.

“You win,” you said once you’d caught your breath and stripped off your borrowed shirt.

* * *

 

**“But…you were dead. I saw you die.”**

You were new to Overwatch, barely a week into your training, and the cryptic comment of the agent who recruited you still made no sense. He had mentioned in passing that you’d be working closely with “someone you’d be glad to see”. If it was meant to be a joke, it wasn’t a very good one. You decided ultimately to brush it off as a failed attempt at flirting.

Until Blackwatch returned from their latest mission. You were eating lunch when the call went out for emergency medical staff to meet them at the dock. You didn’t have any emergency training yet, but you wondered if you should follow the flock of medics rushing down the hall to help where you could and maybe learn something.

A page from Dr Zeigler, whom you’d been training under, made your mind up for you. Be at Med1 omw w patient now. You abandoned the rest of your meal and hurried for the medical facility. You watched the time nervously, worried that being unfamiliar still with where everything was would slow you down. You reached the building in ten minutes–which wasn’t as bad as you feared–and rushed past Med2 where the door had been left ajar in the rush. The silence of the medics hard at work was drowned out by the raised, overlapping voices coming from Med1.

“I’m trying to help you!” Angela was saying, her voice still gentle despite being the loudest you’d ever heard her speak to either colleague or patient.

“I don’t need your help!” her patient insisted over her.

“I can’t just let you do this!”

“Why-”

Their argument came to an abrupt stop when you entered the room. You paused stunned by the unexpected appearance of the agent that the doctor had been speaking to. More than half of his body was composed of armored machinery you’d never seen on a human before. Bundles of cables, some pulled loose or broken, connected the unorthodox prosthetics, and his face, although obscured, stirred a sad memory in you. He glanced at you once and then looked away immediately.

Dr Zeigler handed you a tablet and started cleaning and putting away her medical equipment in short, forceful movements. Her hands were shaking despite the affected evenness of her tone.

“Make a note in Agent Shimada’s chart that he has unwisely declined medical treatment despite my recommendation,” she dictated to you.

You balked at the name, hand hovering over the screen in front of you. You searched for his name on the chart to make sure you’d heard her right, and there it was.  _Shimada, Genji_. You looked him over once more, lightheaded from the shock. You couldn’t be sure, but his eyes certainly reminded you of the friend you were sure you’d lost years ago.

“It can’t be,” you said, hands shaking and nearly unaware of what you were saying. You weren’t sure if you were about to break down in tears or stop breathing altogether. “But…you were dead. I saw you die.”

“You shouldn’t have to see me like this,” he said, unable to meet your wide eyed stare. “I’m sorry.”

It really was him. Some way, and you didn’t care how, he was alive. You reached blindly to set the tablet on whatever surface was behind you and missed, and the device clattered loudly to the floor. You couldn’t care less if it were broken. In that moment it didn’t matter. You had already thrown your arms around his neck to hug him tightly, crying into his shoulder.

His prosthetics felt cold against your skin, and you were distantly aware that some of your hair had caught on his mask when he rested his head against yours. He held you pressed to his chest, comforted by having you close again. In time, you couldn’t tell how long, your sobbing subsided to quiet, exhausted sniffling. His steady, measured breathing relaxed you. For years you thought you’d never get another moment like this, and you intended to savour it.

* * *

 

**“Yes, I love you!” + “Why me?”**

You didn’t mind picking up your friends at odd hours of the night as long as it meant they got home safe. You only had 2 rules: 1) Don’t do anything that could result in a ticket or arrest and 2) Don’t throw up in the car. Rule 1 was yet to be broken; rule 2, not so much.

Around the time when late night overlaps with early morning, your ringtone snatched you from a mediocre dream about birds. You fumbled to answer it in the dark, shielding your eyes from the offensive brightness of the screen, and mumbled a tired greeting to whichever of your wayward friends hadn’t made it home yet.

“Is it too late to ask for a ride?” Genji asked. You could have guessed. Who else would still be out at this hour?

“Too early maybe,” you joked. “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

You threw on some sweats and drove out to the address he gave you. Without any of the cramped daytime traffic you arrived in ten minutes. Genji was the friend you worried about the most. He had a penchant for reckless living which at first glance was fun but under scrutiny was cause for great concern.

You’d barely driven four blocks before needing to pull over so he could get sick. You stood patiently on the sidewalk and waited while he retched into a storm drain. When it seemed like he was done heaving you offered him a napkin. He took it and wiped his mouth and leaned against your car.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said after a moment.

He gave you a quiet sidelong look, either too exhausted or too ill to respond.

“I’m serious,” you pressed, making your case now since he didn’t appear to have the energy to argue. “If you keep living like this it’s going to get you killed. I love you too much to watch you die.”

“You love me?” he asked, and you wondered if he’d heard anything else you had said.

“Yes, I love you,“ you repeated.

A strange expression crossed his face, first pleased then somber.

"Why?” he asked as if you’d just confessed to some kind of crime.

“Do I need a reason?”

“You could do better. I’m not good enough for someone as great as you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” you chided. “That’s for me to decide anyways.”

* * *

 

**“Aren’t I just sweet enough to eat?”**

You hated when arcades kept the best games in the very back. It was always dark and stuffy and, with a few exceptions, reeked of sweating teenagers. The one silver lining was that the secluded corner where your favorite game was set up offered enough privacy for your dates with Genji.

Even on the arcade’s busier days the two of you had plenty of room for your weekly competition. For nearly one year, you’d both dominated the high score list–in fact, it was how you met–and got together every week to battle for the number one spot.

This week you were the one defending your title, and by winning you’d be the first to go four weeks, a full month, undefeated. Relationship changing bragging rights were on the line so obviously you each expected the other to play dirty.

You showed up early, giving yourself an extra 20 minutes to play undisturbed. Your time alone was gone too quickly. You’d barely gotten warmed up by the time Genji arrived. He hugged you, chest pressed against your back, and rested his head on your shoulder to watch you play.

“You cheated,” he accused.

“There’s no rules about being early,” you explained, speaking slower as your attention was elsewhere. “I was in the area.”

“You live on the other side of town,” he muttered in you ear, not buying it.

You didn’t offer any further justification. You both knew you were lying, and you were close to matching your personal best score. You were moment’s away from beating your record when he pinched your sides, fingers dancing over your sensitive skin. You squirmed, trying not to let his tickling distract you from your goal, but it was no use.

You abandoned the controls to swat his hands away from you. The game flash and chimed and announce that you’d lost for everyone to hear. You turned to face your treasonous boyfriend, pushing him playfully.

“You’re a disgrace,” you laughed.

“I get that a lot,” he joked.

You tried to look angry but couldn’t hide your amused grin. You knew he’d find some way to disrupt you. There was a satisfied smirk on his face that made you love and hate him all at once.

“Aren’t I just sweet enough to eat?” he said, confident that you wouldn’t (couldn’t) be mad at him.

“I don’t like sweets,” you answered and stuck out your tongue.


End file.
